


gun it while i’m holding on

by Pidonyx



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, M/M, THE KILLJOYS ARE NOT MCR, Whump, archive warning is just there 2 cover my bases, go crazy go stupid, i promise i started this last night, im braindead sowwy, the one they posted earlier....well not today but tonight, this is gonna seem like a ripoff of teeth’s fic, this is really kinda soppy sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24768757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pidonyx/pseuds/Pidonyx
Summary: “‘Well,’ Ghoul says, voice tight...‘What now?’”
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 58





	gun it while i’m holding on

**Author's Note:**

> only justification i have is that i wanted to. life’s been Funky the past few days mentally for literally no reason so i have this instead of a new chapter
> 
> of course and here i am w my habit of posting fics at like 4 am just like. cause
> 
> i mentioned it in the tags but this is probably gonna seem like a ripoff of teeth’s fic that they posted earlier tonight so go check it out if you haven’t xo:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/24759982
> 
> anyways no beta we die like men
> 
> title from hang em high by my chemical romance

“Well,” Ghoul says, voice tight, as he changes the battery of his raygun even as his hands are shaking from the effort it’s taking. His shooting arm is bleeding sluggishly, a blast wound on his shoulder slowly staining his shirt rusty crimson. “What now?”

Poison doesn’t know. Poison doesn’t fucking know, and Jet and Kobra are pinned down on the other side of the dune, and honestly, he doesn’t know if they’re getting out of this one. He looks helplessly at Ghoul, opening his mouth and closing it again when he realizes he doesn’t have anything to say. “I dunno,” he murmurs, voice cracking a little bit. “Got any more bombs?”

“Jus’ a few. But they’re in th’ car.”

Poison peers over the crest of sand to where the Trans Am is several yards behind the Dracs closing in on their position. “Tha’s not gonna work, baby. ‘S too far. You won’ make it.”

Ghoul looks at him for a long second, eyes darting over his face. Then something settles in his expression, and the corner of his mouth ticks up. He looks over his shoulder briefly, then slips a hand behind Poison’s neck, gently tugging him forwards to press their lips together. Through slight confusion, Poison feels the handle of a raygun being pressed into the palm of his free hand. He jerks backwards, gasping in a breath. “You’d better not be — “

Ghoul just smiles at him again, something a little sad behind his eyes, and kisses Poison’s cheek tenderly. “Make sure everyone gets out safe. I love you.”

“Ghoulie — “ Poison’s tone is sounding distinctly panicky now, but Ghoul shakes his head at him and darts over the ridge. 

Poison clenches his teeth so he won’t scream or cry or something and squeezes Ghoul’s blaster in his left hand until his knuckles go white.  _Cover. He needs cover,_ his brain screams at him, so he throws himself down on his stomach and aims his own gun at the Dracs that are turning in surprise as Ghoul weaves between them, running for the Trans Am. At the bottom of the dune, it seems Kobra and Jet have caught on to what Ghoul is trying to do, because a volley of laser bolts join Poison’s, firing in the direction of the patrol.

Ghoul is fast, but he’s outnumbered, and even as he skitters around the back line, some of the Dracs’ shots hit their mark, catching his leg. He stumbles, but he doesn’t stop, and Poison bites down on his tongue so hard he tastes blood, putting a laser beam through the shoulder of the Drac responsible.

Ghoul gets to the car, disappears behind it, and Poison knows he’s getting the bombs from the trunk. He’s still going to have to set them, though, or else they’re functionally useless, and the Dracs have turned away from the three of them in favor of slowly encircling Ghoul and the car, which wasn’t all that defensible in the first place.  _Come on,_ Poison thinks desperately. His fingers are trembling against the trigger of his zap.

Ghoul straightens, slightly, then, and Poison can see that he’s got the explosives, he’s holding them in his arms, but he doesn’t know what Ghoul could be planning to do with them since the Dracs are surrounding him and he can’t exactly blow up their ride.

Even from where he is on the hill, Poison can see Ghoul tense, and then he pulls a weird maneuver — ducking under a Drac’s arm, kicking its legs out from under it, and starting to run. The Dracs seem confused, too, but they give chase, and Poison realizes what he’s going to do in cold horror the second before Ghoul turns, quick, and drops the bombs he’s holding.

The explosion is bright, whiting out Poison’s vision for a split moment. He hears someone scream something, no words, just a strangled sound, realizes it’s him when his throat aches in response. He’s scrambling down the dune, kicking up sand as he mostly slides down the side of it, before he can even really see again, still blinking spots from his eyes. Kobra is frozen at the base of the rise, jolts when Poison moves past him, following behind him. Jet’s already ahead, faster than either of them, moving towards where dust and sand are still settling.

_Please, please, please, please,_ Poison thinks, terrified enough to reach out to the Witch, praying to her to have saved him, his own ragged breaths in his ears. The Dracs are all down, presumably either unconscious or dead, and Poison could really care less about them right now as he runs past. Jet is kneeling next to a bundle of fabric in the dirt, and Poison’s heart skips a beat. 

Ghoul is sprawled awkwardly on the ground, and Poison stops breathing until he sees the rise and fall of his chest. He’s alive.

He’s, somehow, still conscious, panting harshly through his teeth, but his eyes slide in Poison’s direction when he stumbles to his knees next to him. “Sorry,” Ghoul says, so quietly that Poison can barely hear it, and closes his eyes.

A fresh wave of panic crashes over Poison, and he desperately grabs for one of Ghoul’s hands, scraped raw and bleeding from the knuckles.

“‘S okay,” Jet says, a barely noticeable shake in his voice. His hands are still gently sliding over Ghoul’s limbs, gently pressing to check for fractures, testing the joints. “Jus’ blacked out, I think.” He looks worried, but not fatality-worried, so Poison swallows against the icy terror filling his lungs like a splash of iodine over an open wound and hangs on tight to Ghoul’s hand. Jet makes a distressed noise, blowing air out in a rush. “He’s still pretty fucked up, though. We need t’ get him back to th’ Diner. ‘S got a concussion, an’ I think he broke a few ribs. Dunno ‘bout his hearing, either.”

Poison keeps Ghoul in his lap on the tense drive home, one hand twined securely with Ghoul’s, one resting on his chest as lightly as he can, just to remind himself that Ghoul’s still breathing. Kobra gives him a concerned look when Poison makes a beeline for the back seat, ignoring the driver’s seat completely, but slips into shotgun next to Jet without saying anything about it. Which is good, because Poison’s not sure he could handle conversation right now. 

Ghoul’s face is turned slackly towards Poison, hair spilling over his legs and onto the worn brown leather of the Trans Am’s seat. It’s full of snarls, and if Poison wasn’t sure that he would start to lose it for real if he let go of Ghoul’s hand, he would try to brush through it with his fingers. Ghoul’s hair gets so easily tangled, and he lets Poison comb it out whenever he wants — leans against his side and allows Poison to run his fingers through it until it’s smooth, soothing for both of them. Poison could really use something calming right now, with Ghoul unresponsive and limp on Poison’s thighs, half-dead from saving the rest of them. 

When they get back to the Diner, Jet takes Ghoul from Poison, shooting down Poison’s complaints —  _“for fuck’s sake, Party, if you really need to, sit at th’ table, but I need t’ patch him up or else it’s goin’ t’ get worse”_ —and laying him out on the Diner’s table to clean the blaster wounds on his shoulder and leg. “Can’t do anythin’ about ribs,” he says, sounding tired as he wipes sand out of the lesions with an alcohol-soaked rag. “Think they’re jus’ fractured, but I’m puttin’ you ‘n charge ‘f makin’ sure he can breathe while he’s sleeping since ‘s your room too.”

Poison nods numbly, eyes fixed on Ghoul’s face. Even though he’s still unconscious, his brows knit as Jet swipes deeper into the laceration, making a pained noise that’s too close to a whimper for Poison’s comfort. His fingers clench tighter around Ghoul’s, and Jet gives him a quelling look, eyebrow raised. “Gotta get it clean, Party.”

“I know,” he mumbles.

Kobra sticks his head into the room then, looking worried. “How ‘s he?”

Jet doesn’t look up. “He’ll be fine. Bed rest for a bit, ‘cause I don’t wan’ him fuckin’ his ribs up more, but he’s gonna be okay. Actually can’t believe he didn’t get hurt more, lucky bastard.”

“He’s got ‘n in with th’ Witch,” Kobra says, mouth twitching, coming over to stand next to Jet at the table. He seems relieved, cheered by Jet’s assessment if his willingness to crack jokes is anything to go by. Jet’s lips pull up at the side, and he shakes his head.

Poison makes a vague noise of acknowledgement. Kobra turns to him, narrowing his eyes. He looks him up and down appraisingly, then huffs. “‘M gonna go get y’ some food. I know you’re not gonna move ‘til Ghoul wakes up ‘n’ you need t’ eat something before y’ pass out.”

Poison nods vaguely, and Kobra puts a hand on his head briefly before heading towards the kitchen.

Poison eats the Power Pup Kobra brings him without tasting it, falls into a doze in the booth with his face pressed into his arms. He jolts awake at some unknown time, the Diner dark around him, starlight shining faintly through the dusty bay windows in front. He’s disoriented at first, not completely sure what made him wake up. Then there’s the quietest sound of moving fabric from the table, and Poison looks over to see Ghoul looking back at him.

He smiles weakly. “Hi.”

Poison draws in a sharp breath. He’s speechless for a second, then something like a sob is trying to work its way out of his throat so he just dives down and kisses him. Ghoul sighs and leans into the kiss, tilting his head to the side and moving his lips slowly against Poison’s. Poison rips himself away, panting, and takes a deep breath.

“What is wrong with you?” He hisses, and Ghoul sighs again, sounding unsurprised but not annoyed. If Poison could see him better in the near pitch-blackness, he would bet he’s rolling his eyes. “‘M serious, Ghoul, we could’ve...we could’ve figured somethin’ out, why’d you  _do_ that, you almost  _died_.” He exhales sharply through gritted teeth, ignoring the fact that his eyes feel wet.

“There wasn’t time t’ figure anything else out, Pois,” Ghoul says softly. There’s a shifting noise, and his hand finds Poison’s again, threading their fingers together.

Poison’s crying a bit, now, and he swipes roughly at his face with his free hand. “I don’t care. ‘F.....’f you died.....” He swallows hard. “‘F you died, I dunno what I’d do, okay? So shut th’ fuck up.”

Ghoul squeezes his hand, voice firm when it comes out of the darkness. “‘M here. ‘M here, Pois.”

Poison chokes out a miserable noise and tucks his face into Ghoul’s chest, being careful of his fractured ribs. Ghoul’s other hand strokes over his hair, and he mumbles soothing nonsense as Poison cries quietly into his shirt, trying to stifle the hiccups and sniffles so he won’t wake Jet and Kobra. “I love you,” Poison whispers, voice cracking. “Please don’t fucking do that again.”

“I know, sunshine. I know. ‘M sorry. I love you too. ‘M gonna try t’ keep us from gettin’ ‘n a situation like that again, ‘kay? But — “ he sighs. “I can’t promise I won’t do it again.”

Poison makes an aggravated noise, opens his mouth to say something furious, but Ghoul cuts him off, fingers around his wrist. “It kept you safe. An’ I would pull something that stupid a million times ‘f ‘t meant that you an’ Kobra ‘n’ Jet ‘n’ the Girl got t’ live.”

Poison feels a little hysterical, wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he takes it back, but also wants to kiss him so hard that neither of them can breathe and not let go. He settles for breathing “Fuck,” as emphatically as he can and holding Ghoul’s hand so tight that his nails are digging in. “I love you, baby, don’t fucking die. Don’t fucking do that t’ me. You can’t.”

“I’ll do my best,” Ghoul says, and he at least sounds sincere enough that Poison can breathe a watery sigh and press his forehead to Ghoul’s.

“You guys are my fuckin’ everything,” Poison mutters. “An’ you’re — “ he hesitates, trying to figure out what he could possibly say that encompasses what Ghoul is to him. “You’re my world, Ghoulie. I  need you.” He runs his thumb over the back of Ghoul’s hand. “Don’ make fun ‘f me for saying that.”

“‘S okay. I need you too,” Ghoul says gently. “Y’ can go back t’ sleep. I’ll be here.”

“Okay,” Poison says, already starting to drift off. “Don’...don’....y’ got a concussion, angel, y’ gotta....stay ‘wake.”

“I’ll be ‘lright,” Ghoul says, still gentle. “I’ll stay up ‘n’ wait for Jet.” His hand starts running softly over Poison’s hair again. “Go back t’ sleep. ‘M okay.”

Poison falls asleep with Ghoul’s fingers brushing through his hair and his hand warm in his, his voice a reassuring hum in the background. Right before he drops off, he feels Ghoul press their joined hands to his lips, hears him whisper, “I love you,” mumbles it back.

Jet finds them like that in the morning, Ghoul lying on the table with Poison’s face tucked sleepily into his side above his hip, holding hands with Poison’s other arm curled over Ghoul’s shoulder. Ghoul will whisper for him to get the camera from their room, and pin the resulting polaroid over their bed. Poison will be a little embarrassed, but it doesn’t stop him from writing a (maybe slightly sappy) caption across the bottom and drawing little sharpie hearts around them in the picture.


End file.
